


unbecoming: a story of change

by komiv



Series: unbecoming [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deconstructing Canon - Freeform, Fix-It/Break It Differently, Friendship, Gen, Time Travel - Outsider POV, Universal Constants (TM), historical information creep is a bitch, how do you fix what you can't see breaking?, two geniuses trying to out-xanatos each other is bound to end in disaster for someone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komiv/pseuds/komiv
Summary: An unseated shinigami, a mostly-human anomaly, and a half-trained Quincy walk into a bar (and attempt to raise it).OR, the one where Rukia doesn’t give away her power that night, Ichigo makes a terrible sidekick, and Uryū doesn’t work well with others.





	1. a northern star/a colossal wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Butterfly Effect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7164323) by [AnotherSpoonyBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherSpoonyBard/pseuds/AnotherSpoonyBard). 



> A Bleach AU, with awkward friendship and spirit shenanigans. Because the world needs more Uryū fic, damnit.  
>   
> Inspired by the delightful worldbuilding/characterbuilding in AnotherSpoonyBard’s equally delightful [_Chaos Theory_ AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/485906), from which some headcanons have been borrowed-with-permission. (Thanks!!) Please go read it and give them all the kudos.  
>   
>  Additional shoutouts to Akaluan’s [_Dragon Eclipse_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4900900/chapters/11240101) and Tozette’s [_First Contact, or: The Four Body Problem_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8748340/chapters/20054959) for paving the way for...whatever this mess turns out to be.

_“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”_ 1

—

CHAPTER ONE: a northern star/a colossal wreck

—

_"I am constant as the northern star,_

_Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality_

_There is no fellow in the firmament."_ 2

—

Three weeks after the shinigami arrived in Karakura, Uryū still hadn’t decided whether he should be concerned about her presence or embarrassed on her behalf.

Maybe a bit of both, really.

Concerned because there was a shinigami in his homeroom and he had little desire to draw undue attention from one of _them_ on anything but his own terms.

Embarrassed because she had apparently seen the need to involve _Kurosaki Ichigo_ of all people in whatever had her lingering in the Living World for so long, and there wasn’t a palatable excuse between the two of them for why they kept running out of class.

Not to mention the yet-unanswered question of why a “death god” was hanging around a human high school like this in the first place. Uryū would have expected her to at least pretend to have something better to do with her time.

Shinigami really were utterly useless beings.

She didn’t appear to have noticed him yet, however, and although he couldn’t guarantee the ignorance wasn’t some kind of ruse, neither she nor Kurosaki had shown any visible aptitude for sensing reiatsu outside their absurd dashing about whenever a Hollow revealed itself.

Which...was strange, truthfully. Kurosaki had never shown any real awareness of the kind despite (or perhaps because of) his absurd reiatsu output, but from what little Uryū knew, a trained shinigami should have had no difficulty with such a thing.

Instead, he watched from the audience as they fumbled about Don Kanonji’s set: one underpowered shinigami and a teenage not-quite-delinquent against a Hollow, a barely spiritually-aware entertainer, and a crew of underpaid security guards.

Honestly.

Uryū supposed their incompetence worked to his advantage in the end, but it _rankled_ in a way he hadn’t felt since his father first told him to abandon his Quincy training.

 _This_ was the power of Soul Society?

The crowd around him gasped as a chunk of plaster exploded from the hospital’s outer wall, like this was all part of the show—like there wasn’t a Hollow _right there_ , putting everyone gathered here in danger. Those _idiots._ Uryū gripped the cross hanging from his wrist and spun on his heel to find a better vantage point. They were going to get someone killed if they—

A hand grabbed his arm, yanking him in the opposite direction. He stumbled backwards and bumped into several people before getting enough leverage twist his arm free. A man stood just on the edge of the crowd, eyes comically wide under the brim of a white-and-green bucket hat.

“Oh my!” The man fluttered a paper fan in front of his face. “You’re not Kurosaki-kun at all.”

Uryū stared. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m not.”

A yell echoed from where the shinigami and Kurosaki had chased the Hollow into the hospital, followed by a muffled crash. “That didn’t sound good,” the man said as he peered around Uryū. “Do you think they know what they’re doing up there?”

Uryū frowned at the man and stepped back, careful of the nearby crowd. He couldn’t sense any reiatsu from the man, but there was _something…_ ”You know Kurosaki?”

The man’s eyes slid towards him, a sly smile behind the fan. “Oh, we’ve met. Are you a friend of his?”

“No.”

“What a shame—you both have so much in common.”

Uryū narrowed his eyes, taking in the green jinbei, the cane tucked under one of the man’s arms. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Who are you?”

“Ahh, you can call me Urahara. And what might I call you?”

“...Ishida,” Uryū said after a moment, and then, “I need to go.”

“Just a moment, Ishida-kun,” Urahara said, holding his cane out to stop Uryū from leaving. “Don’t you think you should wait until the show ends? It’s dangerous, you know, walking around alone at night.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“You do look like a capable young man,” Urahara agreed. “But say—well. If you should see Kurosaki-kun, tell him to come by my store, yes? The Urahara Shop. I’d like to speak with him.”

Annoyance twitched at Uryū’s brow. “I told you, we’re not—!”

Someone let out a triumphant shout and the Hollow reiatsu from within the hospital abruptly vanished. Uryū glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Kanonji stumble back onto the stage in a thick cloud of dust. He could feel Kurosaki still inside the building, along with the shinigami’s faint reiatsu.

Apparently they had survived after all.

As Kanonji began recounting the slightly-altered events of his “ghostly encounter” for the enraptured audience, Uryū turned back to finish speaking. Except the crowd had already swelled to fill the space between him and Urahara, and by the time he pushed his way through them, the man was already gone.

—

The shinigami called herself Kuchiki Rukia, and after another week she still hadn’t left.

Uryū could have sworn her reiatsu levels were actually _decreasing_ the longer she stayed in the Living World, which made no sense given how little he had sensed from her at the live-show already. Did shinigami lose reiryoku when they left Soul Society?

He wouldn’t actually know. His grandfather had never mentioned anything of the sort, but—

(But there had been a lot his grandfather had never gotten the chance to mention, before he died.)

Across the classroom, Kuchiki seemed intent on taking notes as the teacher continued their lesson. Like a normal student. Like a normal _teenager_. If he hadn’t caught sight of her the first night she arrived, black shihakusho and all, he might have taken her for another spiritually-aware human.

(And wasn’t that a disturbing thought?)

He’d tried to keep an eye on her and Kurosaki over the past week as they ran around performing soul burials, playing at shinigami against Hollows neither could evidently take on their own. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten Kurosaki killed yet.

Did Kurosaki even know what he had gotten mixed up in? Unlikely. No number of regular spirits and schoolyard fights could possibly prepare someone for the kind of danger shinigami and Hollows brought to bear. In the beginning, Uryū had hoped the shinigami would just complete her duty and leave them be, but she hadn’t. She was _still here_ , doing little and less about Karakura’s Hollow problem, and putting one of his classmates more in harm’s way with each passing day.

He could handle the Hollows just fine himself. Better even, since he could _kill_ the problem before anyone else got hurt.

Kuchiki looked over his way and Uryū turned his eyes back to the board with a frown. He would have to do something about her. Soon.

But how?

—

Another two days passed before Uryū made his mind up to confront Kurosaki—not Kuchiki, not yet—during lunch when the girls had dragged Kuchiki off for who-knew-what and Asano’s antics had driven Kurosaki to sit by himself in a corner of the school yard. Uryū had debated the night before just how to handle his approach, how much to let on about what he knew.

In the end, the more straightforward plan won out in the interest of reducing any possible misunderstanding Kurosaki might take from his words.

“I know what you’ve been up to with Kuchiki-san,” he said. “I know you can see spirits.”

Kurosaki looked up slowly and squinted like Uryū was standing with his back to the sun. (He wasn’t.) “Who the hell are you?”

If they hadn’t already been classmates for years, Uryū might have been a little more offended at the lack of recognition. Kurosaki had never been the most observant person. As it was, he just adjusted his glasses and ignored the question. “Did she tell you she needed your help? That shinigami?”

Ah, there it was. Not quite recognition, but understanding as Kurosaki sat up and his eyes narrowed sharply. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re being used, Kurosaki-kun. Shinigami don’t work with humans, even humans with your absurd reiatsu levels. Whatever she said, it—”

“ICHIGO!”

A small, round object—was that an orange???—soared through the air between them, missing them both to thud into the roots of the nearby tree. Uryū felt his brow twitch as Kuchiki strode up, phone in hand. Of course.

“Ichigo, I need you to—” She paused when she noticed him standing there, her voice shifting up half an octave like some kind of terrible actress. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!! You are...Ishida-kun? I think Inoue-chan was looking for you! Maybe you should go find her?? She’s over on the other side of the yard.”

A little too quickly, Kuchiki pointed to where some of the other girls from their class had gathered around a table, her smile just this side of trying-too-hard. Uryū’s eyes followed her gesture, shifted back over to Kurosaki, then returned to the shinigami.

“Did you want to speak with Kurosaki-kun in private, shinigami-san?” he asked, deliberately deadpan.

“E-eh?” Kuchiki jumped back a step. She shot Kurosaki an accusatory glare. “Ichigo, what did you do??”

“Me?!”

“Kurosaki-kun is innocent,” Uryū interjected mildly. “At least in this regard. However...if ineptitude were a crime, you would be Karakura’s highest offender. Kuchiki Rukia.”

The shinigami stiffened, drawing herself up to stare him down. “You...just who do you think you are?”

He met her gaze without blinking. “A person who hates shinigami.”

“That’s not an answer,” she snapped.

“Oi, and what’s this about Rukia using me?” Kurosaki pushed himself to his feet, stalking over to stand next to Kuchiki with his arms crossed.

Uryū raised his brow. “Exactly what I said. You don’t think someone calling herself a shinigami would actually need help from a high school student, do you? Either she does need your help and she’s lying about her identity, or she doesn’t and she’s lying about what she wants from you. Simple.”

“What do you know about shinigami?” Kuchiki demanded. She made an empty grasp for her absent zanpakutō.

“I know you claim to fight Hollows. I know you miss three for each one you take down.” He paused. “I know you’re ill-equipped to protect anyone from the dangers you bring upon them, and if you really wanted the best for everyone involved, you would turn tail and run back to where you belong before you get anyone else killed.”

Kuchiki went very still, blood draining from her face as if his words had struck a physical blow. In the distance, the school bell signaled the end of lunch, but none of them moved.

Apparently his choice of words had hit a mark he hadn’t intended. Interesting.

“Tonight, after dark,” he said, taking advantage of the given opening. “A challenge: I will bring more Hollows to Karakura. Whoever kills the most...wins. You will see that this place has no need for shinigami when the power of the Quincy protects it.”

—

_“Rukia.”_

_“Nii-sama?”_

_“Do not forget your duty while in the human world. You are a shinigami of the Gotei 13. I expect you will conduct yourself as such.”_

_“...yes, nii-sama. I will remember.”_

—

Uryū watched the sun set from the roof of the library, a small box of Hollow bait at his feet. He had already changed into his Quincy uniform, his cross a slight-but-reassuring weight on his wrist, and although Kuchiki had initially rejected his challenge he felt confident that she would show up regardless.

Even if unintended, his statement about getting people killed had clearly hit a nerve. She had something to prove now.

Which was fine. He had something to prove, too.

The shinigami had let his grandfather _die_ , after everything Sōken had done to try and reconcile with them. Shinigami were…

Hollows could at least be counted upon to act as their monstrous nature demanded, but shinigami wrapped themselves in the pretense of being protectors, claimed to be guardians while they allowed people to die under their protection.

Whether from incompetence or deliberate neglect, shinigami were worse than useless.

His father had abandoned the way of the Quincy, his grandfather—his sensei—had been stolen from him. The shinigami either couldn’t help or didn’t care. Spiritually-aware humans like Kurosaki and Don Kanonji didn’t know enough about the world around them to make a difference.

The only person Uryū could depend on now was himself.

So he would. He would show Kuchiki—show the shinigami—show _everyone—_ that the Last Quincy could stand on his own. And he could protect Karakura better than any of them.

As the sun sank below the distant horizon, he felt Kuchiki’s weak reiatsu signature approaching his position—alone. _In_ teresting. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused on finding Kurosaki’s reiatsu. There. Even at a distance it was a bright beacon on the other side of town, accompanied by a few unfamiliar flickers.

What was he doing?

No matter. Kuchiki landed on the roof and Uryū pushed himself to his feet, retrieving a handful of Hollow bait from the box.

“Don’t do this, Ishida,” she said, voice low. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, this _isn’t worth it_.”

It was the first time he had seen her shinigami form since Kanonji’s live-show, the very first time up close, and she looked...tired. Agitated. Her reiatsu wavered in the air around her, like her control was already fraying. Her knuckles were white on the hand that gripped her zanpakutō, and in the light of the rising moon, her eyes looked weighed down by crescents of fatigue he didn’t remember seeing at school.

For a moment, Uryū almost hesitated.

_...he could protect Karakura better than any of them._

Almost.

“It will be,” he said, and crushed the bait.

Reishi scattered around them, drifting into the sky, and within moments Uryū felt the first Hollow force its way into the Living World. In a swift motion, he summoned his bow and fired a shot upwards to disintegrate its mask.

“That makes one.”

Kuchiki swore and drew her zanpakutō as other Hollows began to appear around the city. “You’ve just put the entire town in danger, Quincy.”

“Then I suppose you’d better work quickly, hadn’t you?”

She flashed away without another word and he temporarily put her out of his mind, lining up his next shot. The concentrated reishi from his bow lit up the rooftop around him, dispelling the darkness with familiar bright-white-blue.

 _Don’t worry, Sensei_ , he thought as he loosed another arrow. _I’ll protect everyone._

_I’ll make you proud._

The rhythm was almost comforting: draw—target—release—repeat. Add a tally to the running count in his head. He lost track of Kuchiki after the fifth Hollow fell, but bursts of shinigami reiatsu continued to flash on his periphery, staggered with Kurosaki’s uncontrolled flares and spikes of those same unfamiliar signatures he had sensed earlier.

_Who…?_

Don’t worry about it. Focus. Draw—target—release—repeat—

He kept moving, kept shooting, but before long an uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach to match the weight of fatigue in his arms. Despite what he had said to Kuchiki, he had been _careful_ to only use a small amount of the bait. He had expected it to spread through the city, but…

There were too many. He had taken down over a dozen Hollows already, but they _kept coming_. Even if the shinigami had decided to stand aside and let the monsters run rampart, their numbers should have been thinning by now.

But they weren’t, and even his power wouldn’t last forever.

He stopped to catch his breath as a lone one in the park fell to his arrows, letting his bow vanish while he tried to pinpoint each reiatsu signature around him.

_Hollow—Hollow—Kurosaki—Hollow—Kuchiki—Hollow—Unknown—Unknown—_

“There you are, Ishida-kun.”

Out the darkness stepped the man from Kanonji’s show—Urahara, his geta clacking against the sidewalk as he crossed over to where Uryū knelt. A flickering street-lamp overhead cast Urahara’s face into more shadows than light.

“Quite the commotion we have tonight, isn’t it?” the shopkeeper said, tone belying the steel in his eyes. “And here you are again, alone at night. You didn’t listen to me.”

Uryū pushed to his feet, flexing the fingers of his off-hand as he ground out, “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Oh, I can tell.” Urahara leaned forward, hands folded over his cane. “Tell me, did you _intend_ to loose a swarm of Hollows on an unsuspecting town, or was that someone else’s mistake?”

Something was...not right. More than all the Hollows responding to his bait. Too strong to be a regular Hollow, too—too _wrong_ to be anything else.

The street-lamp sparked and went out, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw it.

A hole in the sky.

Uryū felt a chill as the first wave of monstrous reiatsu reached him. “T-that is…”

“Not what you expected?” Behind him, Urahara’s voice was disturbingly calm for a man with no apparent reiatsu— _but if that were the case, how could he see the Hollows at all?_ “Understandable. A Menos Grande would be a challenge for anyone. Even a Quincy, hm?”

 _How how_ how—

“Oh, but how could this _possibly_ have happened?” Urahara— _he can’t just be a shopkeeper who is he what is he what is he?!—_ adopted a mocking lilt. Uryū spun around just in time to see the tip of that cane stop a centimeter from his nose, Urahara watching him intently from the other end. “Irrelevant. It happened. The Gillian is here. Now the only question that matters is this: are you the type of person who lets others clean up his messes, Ishida Uryū? Or will you act?”

_I’ll protect everyone._

Kurosaki’s reiatsu faltered and flared alarmingly nearby, nearly eclipsing Kuchiki’s presence entirely as cracks in reality spiderwebbed across the sky. Too-aware of the _wrongwrongwrong_ saturating the air around them, Uryū tore his attention away from the strange shopkeeper and started re-summoning his bow before he was fully conscious of the action.

“Don’t worry about the smaller ones,” he heard Urahara say. “We’ll take care of those.”

He took off running without asking for clarification.

Up close, the Gillian was...huge. Bigger than any being had any right to be. It towered above the clearing where he found Kurosaki and Kuchiki surrounded by the disintegrating bodies of several more Hollows, like a massive shadow blotting out the moon. His classmate held a protective stance in front of where the shinigami visibly staggered, blood dripping from a nasty gash on her sword arm.  

He shot an arrow over their heads in lieu of announcing himself and skidded to a stop as Kuchiki brought her zanpakutō up to guard. “You—!”

“Don’t think I’m here for you,” he said, drawing to take aim again—except his opening heilig pfeil had barely scratched the Gillian’s neck. Not good. “You think I would trust a shinigami to save this town?”

“Shut up, Ishida,” Kurosaki called over. His reiatsu flared like he thought he could hold the Gillian back by will alone. “It’s okay to admit you want to help.”

“Does saying that mean you actually have a plan, Kurosaki?”

“Sure. We hit it a bunch until it falls over, right?”

“You can’t just punch a Menos Grande, Ichigo!” Kuchiki interjected, faintly horrified.

Uryū grimaced. “She has a point. You— _we—_ need an actual plan if we’re going to do any real damage.”

Unfortunately, the Gillian didn’t seem interested in giving them the time. Its giant head swept the area and it began lumbering forward, slow but for that each step brought it far, far too close to where they stood. If he hadn’t already been fighting Hollows since the evening began, Uryū might have felt more assured of  his ability to take the monster down, but as it was…

“...oi, Rukia,” Kurosaki said suddenly. “You said Hollows are attracted to people with lots of reiatsu, yeah?”

“Ichigo, what are you thinking?”

Kurosaki flashed a grin that inspired little confidence in his intentions. “Well, Ishida’s got that fancy bow, and you’re a shinigami. Compared to that...I’m just a guy with too much reiatsu, remember? So I’ll keep that thing busy while you guys take it out.”

“Kurosaki—”

“Ichigo—!”

The Gillian’s mask swivelled as Kurosaki rushed off, unsubtle as ever.

“That guy…” Uryū muttered. He eyed Kuchiki dubiously, only to find the shinigami giving him much the same look. “Well, can you still fight?”

“I’ll manage. You?”

 _Not as well as I should._ “Of course. We can hardly let Kurosaki fight by himself.”

But even as he drew more reishi from the air around them, Uryū knew he didn’t have nearly enough power to be more than an annoyance. And if Kuchiki’s reiryoku was as weak as she felt…

Individually, they would never make enough of a difference to keep Kurosaki from being eaten.

_That idiot._

“Shinigami…” He flexed his bow hand, feeling the energy currently flowing through Kojaku. Kuchiki’s reiatsu fluttered beside him, barely present but for the zanpakutō gripped in trembling hands. His own limits aside, there wasn’t nearly enough reishi around them to take a Menos down before it caused irreversible damage.

A significant part of him rebuffed the next thought that occurred to him, as he felt an odd tug from the reiatsu emanating from Kuchiki’s zanpakutō.

Could he…?

“I have an idea,” he said. “But you will not like it.”

 _He_ certainly didn’t.

As expected, Kuchiki balked at the idea of letting a Quincy anywhere near her zanpakutō. He couldn’t really blame her, honestly, but neither of them had the luxury of indulging personal grudges given their current situation.

“Any time now!” Kurosaki yelled from the other side of the clearing. His attention was riveted on the Gillian, who had begun to summon some kind of crackling energy in front of its mask.

“Cero…” Kuchiki blanched and abruptly shoved her zanpakutō towards Uryū. “Fine, take it! If you’re going to do something, do it!”

Easier said than done. Clearing all other thoughts from his mind, Uryū lay his free hand on the flat of the blade. Energy hummed within it, alien from the reishi he was used to handling, from his own reiryoku.

Here was the power of a shinigami.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and _reached_.

The power flooded into him, jarring until he grit his teeth and wrestled it under control enough to channel it into his bow. He yanked his hand away as Kojaku surged in size with the sudden influx, vaguely conscious of Kuchiki dropping as he did.

“Forget about him!” Uryū snapped at the Gillian, pulling back a wildly fluctuating arrow. His hands shook as he took aim for the giant Hollow mask and released it in a rush of energy. “The Last Quincy will be your opponent.”

The arrow streaked through the darkness, a too-bright missile that crashed into its target and shattered bone-white fragments from the Gillian’s newly cracked mask. The monster reared back and fired its incomplete cero into the sky.

Discordant power buzzed beneath his skin, hunting for an outlet. As the Gillian gathered itself for another attack—this time aimed at him and Kuchiki—Uryū forced as much reishi as he dared into a single arrow, took aim, and let it fly.

The ensuing roar shook the ground beneath them. The Gillian recoiled from the attack, curling around the damage to its mask before it began to retreat back towards the hole in the sky.

Kojaku vanished in a burst of reiryoku and Uryū fell to his knees, last vestiges of energy drained. Distantly, he could hear Kurosaki whooping their apparent victory, but all he could hear was the racing pulse in his ears.

“My, my, how impressive…”

When his heart stopped pounding louder than the noise around him, he became aware of the others around them—Urahara, from the tone, and a deeper voice he didn’t recognize. Kurosaki had rejoined them, but after Uryū pushed his glasses back into place what his eyes focused on first were the gleaming eyes of a cat watching them from atop a splintered fencepost.

_Why hadn’t it run away?_

—

Four weeks and two days after the shinigami arrived in Karakura, Ishida Uryū found himself in the back room of a novelty candy shop with a cup of tea, a bandaged arm, and a very large headache. Kuchiki hadn’t woken up yet, and despite Tsukabishi’s assurances that she would be fine, the matter had already earned Uryū several pointed glares from Kurosaki.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Uryū took a sip of his tea and returned a glower of his own. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said blandly. “What did you think would happen if you started running around with a _shinigami_?”

“Rukia isn’t the one who summoned a bunch of Hollows just to show off!”

“He does have a point, Ishida-kun,” Urahara said from the doorway. “I have to wonder just how you imagined that plan of yours playing out.”

“I didn’t _plan_ for a Menos Grande to show up.” Uryū frowned at him. “Hollow bait shouldn’t have drawn anything so powerful. I didn’t use that much of it.”

Kurosaki scowled. “I still can’t believe you actually used it at all. Who even keeps shit like that around?”

“A Quincy.”

Urahara’s words drew both of their attention back to him as he stepped into the room, considering Uryū with that same intent look he had earlier. “That is how you called yourself, isn’t it? Given that bow of yours, I can see why. And here I thought the Quincy were all but extinct...”

Uryū clenched a hand around his cup and took a slow, deliberate breath before responding. “The shinigami would like that, I’m sure.”

“How curious, then,” Urahara mused. “That your first choice when confronted with one was to make as big a spectacle of your abilities as possible.”

“I’m not afraid of the shinigami. They should know the power of the one facing them. The Quincy will not be so easily silenced.”

Kurosaki shook his head. “I heard about what happened 200 years ago, but putting everyone in danger like that was really—”

“I’m not interested in stories or ancient history,” Uryū interrupted shortly. “What I care about...are the shinigami who let my sensei die in front of me, after he tried for years to convince them to work with him. For that, I will _always_ hate them.”

Wood clattered as Urahara suddenly pulled the door behind him closed. “And then what happens, hm?” he asked, eyes shadowed under his hat. “An unknown Quincy reveals himself by publicly challenging one of their shinigami and Soul Society allows him to continue on his way without issue? You could consider yourself lucky if they found you too weak to be worth their notice. But they won’t, because you didn’t stop there."

Urahara looked up, and for the first time Uryū felt a whisper of the man’s reiatsu—not weak for its subtlety, but controlled. Deadly. And focused on him.

“Setting a horde of Hollows on a human town,” Urahara continued quietly. “Providing an opening for a Menos Grande to follow. _Taking power from a shinigami of the Gotei 13?_ Impressive, certainly, but they won’t care about how it happened, or why. All they’re going to see is a practicing Quincy who somehow managed to escape their notice, and a _barely_ avoided disaster.

“And then they’re going to act.”

—

_“Round the decay_

_Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare_

_The lone and level sands stretch far away.”_ 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver
> 
> 2 _Julius Caesar_ (3.1.60-62), by William Shakespeare.
> 
> 3 “Ozymandias,” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
> 
> —
> 
> The alternate title for this chapter is "DAMNIT, ISHIDA."
> 
> Alternate epigraph: "And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover...I am determined to prove a villain" - _Richard III_ (1.1.28-30), by William Shakespeare. In this context, it references Uryū's change of heart re: shinigami following Sōken's death. I decided against using it in-story since it didn't relate as much to the overall arc of the chapter as it did to an arc he's already gone through, but figured it was still worth mentioning.
> 
> —
> 
>  **Re: Rukia not sensing Uryū** \- In canon she lost track of a Hollow due to Ichigo's massive reiatsu, and generally when she's around Uryū, Ichigo is nearby. It's hard to hear even normal-volume sounds when someone's blasting their music real loud at you, yeah? (On the other hand, Uryū grew up in relative proximity to Ichigo's ridiculous reiatsu volume, so he's used to having to focus around it.)
> 
>  **Re: Quincy** \- Chaos Theory makes a very good point in regards to canon vs lore treatment of Quincy, insofar as the threat they pose to Soul Society, from which I've borrowed a bit for this story. 
> 
> Basically: A group of people with the ability to manipulate and/or obliterate soul particles + a group of people essentially _made up of soul particles_ = a very scary mess, even before you get into affecting the balance and the shit with Yhwach. That kind of enemy doesn't just get forgotten, especially with a people as long-lived as shinigami can be. Details might get obscured from common knowledge due to time or gag orders, but at least a rumor, or a skewed mention in history textbooks, would probably survive, if only out of the pure nightmare factor. Rukia might not know any specifics, but she _would_ have heard of them. 
> 
> That said, historical information creep _is_ a bitch.
> 
>  **Re: Urahara** \- Ichigo hasn't developed any of his powers yet in this AU, and he doesn't have Rukia's power, either. Urahara is keeping all his options open in regards to fighting Aizen, and 100 years is a long time to make contingency plans. A gigai to implant the Hōgyoku into some unfortunate soul, potential rogue elements courtesy of the high local density of spiritually-aware humans, the hybrid children of a Hollow-infected Quincy and a shinigami-turned-human...
> 
> Aizen has already proven that he isn't going to pull any punches when executing his plans. Urahara can't afford to hold back, either.
> 
> That said, he also has some _very personal_ experience with the Sereitei's particular brand of Justice when it comes to people even _appearing_ to break the law. Given his past interactions with Ryūken (courtesy of the incident with Masaki and Isshin) and the need for information that his position would necessitate, I think it's safe to say he'd at least have a general idea of the current state of the Ishida household.
> 
> Added to aforementioned Quincy headcanons, this tl;dr's into "evidently no one has instilled any kind of common sense in this kid since Sōken died." And all that unresolved grief and anger (because clearly any kind of emotional competence in that family died with Sōken and Kanae) means that Uryū is playing with fire that Urahara already knows very, very well. Without an already-acting substitute shinigami to provide sufficient distraction...
> 
> Urahara isn't angry with how things went down here. He's _scared_ —for a fifteen year-old kid who has _no idea_ what kind of hornet's nest he's poking.
> 
> **Coming up**... CHAPTER TWO: pains and troubles/on we go 


	2. pains and troubles/on we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing pains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to [kavkakat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kavkakat) for ~~enabling~~ putting up with all my plot/character rambles and half-written drafts as I try to figure this story out.

CHAPTER TWO: pains and troubles/on we go

—

 _“Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul?”_ 4

—

The day after the challenge, a red sun rose over Karakura Town. Sunrise bled through the window of Uryū’s room, bringing with it painful awareness of the night before, and for a few minutes he lay there with an arm over his eyes.

That.

That had happened.

(How had that happened?)

He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten home, couldn’t quite remember how things had gone so wrong so quickly before that, but events from the moment the Menos appeared to the moment he finally left Urahara’s shop…

Those were _impeccably_ clear.

_“I have to wonder just how you imagined that plan of yours playing out.”_

Not like this.

(His arm hurt.)

Pins and needles when he moved his fingers, a dull ache beneath his skin. Tsukabishi had warned him not to remove the bandages or use his bow for another day. Uryū still wasn’t sure if he intended to actually follow those instructions or not.

After all, Tsukabishi was an associate of _that man_.

Urahara.

Cautiously, Uryū curled his hand into a fist and the muscles responded without issue. No lingering damage there, at least.

_“...consider yourself lucky…”_

Just a shopkeeper looking out for his interests? Hah. A convenient truth, maybe. The shop itself certainly existed, at least physically, and Uryū didn’t doubt that Urahara had interests in what happened in Karakura. Too many interests, in fact, and too many answers to questions that a “simple shopkeeper” shouldn’t even know to ask.

A man like that wouldn’t linger somewhere he wasn’t invested.

Uryū heard the front door open and close downstairs. Ryūken left for work early.

_Did he notice when I came in late?_

Probably not.

(Even if he had, it wouldn’t come up. Ryūken had long since made his opinion on such activities known.)

(They didn’t talk much anymore.)

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Uryū reached for his glasses and held them up to inspect for damage. They had been scuffed during the fighting—a few of the Hollows had gotten a little too close—but otherwise both the frame and lenses had held up admirably.

He made a mental note to work on his hirenkyaku. Getting caught in melee range like that was...less than optimal.

Especially if there was any kind of truth to Urahara’s claims about the shinigami.

“ _Maybe they won’t act immediately, or in a way you recognize,"_ Urahara had said. “ _But they_ will _act. If you truly consider all shinigami your enemies, you may very well get what you wish_.”

Empty threats, full of retribution and hollow words.

(Maybe.)

(Maybe not.)

He put his glasses on and finally got up to begin his morning routine. Stretch. Breakfast. Check his schoolwork. The Handicrafts Club met this afternoon. He still needed to finish mending that skirt for Kunieda. Set his Quincy uniform to soak while he was at school, so he could wash the bloodstains out later.

_“You can’t fight every battle alone, Ishida-kun.”_

What did that shopkeeper know of shinigami? Of Quincy? (Too much. Not enough.) How? Sōken would have mentioned if there was another Quincy around. Urahara was clearly powerful, but he had let them handle the Menos instead of actually helping, so he couldn’t be _that_ strong.

Maybe he was like Kurosaki? Too much reiatsu and no real means to use any of it.

(That didn’t feel right, either.)

Change into his school uniform, careful of the bandages. Too warm out for his jacket. Loop his cross around his wrist. Hope Kurosaki wouldn’t try to talk about what had happened while they were at school.

_“You’ll need people to stand beside you, sooner or later.”_

Check the time. Check his bag. Grab some replacement thread for his kit. Keys, shoes. Lock the house. Out the door, looks like it might rain later. Umbrella? Yes. Head to school.

Deep breath.

_“Think about what I said. If you change your mind...well. You know where to find us, hm?”_

The Hollow bait had been a mistake. Fine, he could admit that. He was still learning. But if Urahara thought he could offer anything Uryū couldn’t figure out himself, that charlatan of a shopkeeper would be waiting until the shinigami came for him.

—

“An explosion?”

“I heard a gas truck caught on fire.”

“How terrible!”

“Was anyone hurt?”

School was...awkward. He managed to arrive on time, but he saw the looks some of his classmates gave him as he sat down. Inoue asked if he had been caught in the explosion last night, an odd flicker about her that almost felt like…

It couldn’t be.

“I fell down the stairs,” he said. He knew she didn’t believe him—no one would, with an excuse like that—but the school bell rang and she didn’t push the issue.

Kuchiki had recovered, apparently, although her reiatsu now felt weaker than ever. She and Kurosaki hurried in while the class was taking attendance, taking their own seats with no few glances in his direction. He ignored them, grateful they sat too far away from him to harass him directly.

The reprieve lasted until lunchtime.

“Hey, Ishida.”

Of course it was Kurosaki who made the first move. He came over as the rest of the class was dispersing, hands shoved into his pockets. “You wanna join us for lunch?”

...what?

Uryū frowned. “Why?”

“Keigo’s buying. Come eat with us.”

An objectioning squawk from Asano cast some doubt over the offer, but Kurosaki had that _look_ on his face, like when he had suggested they team up against the Menos.

_“It’s okay to admit you want to help.”_

Idiot.

“...in that case, I accept,” Uryū said, adjusting his glasses. Kuchiki had already left with the girls, he noted. Maybe Kurosaki had taken his warning about shinigami to heart?

(Probably not.)

It could have been a trap, but Kurosaki didn’t seem the type for that kind of scheming.

(Neither did Kuchiki, really.)

As it turned out, lunch was just lunch. They ate on the roof with a few of the others, listening to Asano and Kojima speculate about what might have caused the “mysterious explosion.” When the inevitable questions came about his bandaged arm, Uryū redirected their attention by noting a bruise Kurosaki had acquired the previous night.  The ensuing commotion dominated the conversation long enough for his own injuries to successfully lose their novelty.

Except Sado, who refrained from commenting, made a point to meet Uryū’s eyes across the circle as Asano and Kurosaki bickered.

Something about him nagged at Uryū’s senses. Had he noticed them last night? What had he seen? Was he—

“You have…” Sado trailed off and pointed at his face. “A crumb on your cheek.”

Oh.

“...thank you,” Uryū said, and wiped it off.

Maybe the shopkeeper’s words had affected him more than he thought.

—

“So, Ishida...you’re a normally real quiet guy, huh?” Kurosaki commented later. The other three had gone ahead to class, but Uryū had fallen back out of habit and Kurosaki had followed suit. “It’s kinda weird.”

Uryū glanced over at him. “How so?”

“Well, you were acting all dramatic yesterday, saying that stuff about Rukia and showing up with that bow. But most people at school don’t even know you can fight.”

“That’s intentional.”

“And what that Sandal-Hat guy said...you really hate Rukia? Just because she’s a shinigami?”

 _Of course not,_ Uryū wanted to say. _You don’t understand. It’s not_ just because _anything_ …

“It’s complicated,” he said instead.

“Because of—”

“We should catch up with the others,” Uryū interrupted. He quickened his pace as they turned the corner, leaving Kurosaki behind. “I don’t want to be late.”

—

_“New orders, Kuchiki-taichō?”_

_“We are to...retrieve Rukia from the Human World and bring her back to Soul Society.”_

_“What, really? They found her? That’s great!”_

_“The orders are for her arrest.”_

_“...that’s not great.”_

_“No.”_

_“And we’re still gonna do it?”_

_“...yes.”_

—

Uryū had just taken his shoes off when he felt the shinigami arrive in Karakura.

Not Kuchiki. Other shinigami. Different ones. Two? Neither had reiatsu as wild as Kurosaki, or as ominous as Urahara, but they felt...strong. Strong like that Menos had been. They hadn’t landed nearby, but they were close enough that he could sense them.

Somewhere in Karakura.

Somewhere in Karakura was somewhere _too close_.

For several moments he stood motionless in the entryway to the house, heart hammering in his chest. Why were they here? Why now? Because of him? Why two of them? What had Kuchiki told them? When? He hadn’t thought—

(“ _Maybe they won’t act immediately_ ,” Urahara had said.)

(Maybe they wouldn’t meant maybe they would.)

He hadn’t thought.

Full stop.

He wasn’t thinking right now, either.

Stop.

Breathe.

Focus.

_Breathe._

Breathing was a good start. He needed to stop and think this through before he made a mistake that cost more than he was willing to give. He needed to think, make a plan, and find what he needed. _Then_ he could take action before the situation got too out of control.

Could he take them?

No. Not with his arm injured. Not two of them. Not at his current power level, and definitely not by himself. Improvising with Kuchiki’s power against the Menos had left his spiritual channels feeling strained, like a muscle he hadn’t stretched properly. If he had more time to train, more time to practice, maybe he might have better chances, but the most he could hope for right now was to harass them long enough to make them work for...whatever they intended to do.

(Urahara had been maddeningly unspecific about that, of all things.)

And that was assuming they bothered to fight fair. They were shinigami, after all.

(He _really_ needed to work on his hirenkyaku.)

Uryū forced himself to move again, setting his school bag down and going up to his room. His Quincy uniform was still soaking, but the rest of his gear was there. He double-checked the cross on his wrist, and then from a box in his closet retrieved several gintō and his silber draht. Just in case.

Briefly, he considered the other box next to it, the one his grandfather had left him. Could he…?

No. No time, even if he could get _that_ to work. He left it and closed the closet door.

What was his next step?

Get away from the house. He wasn’t sure when Ryūken would be home tonight, but he didn’t want to be here if—when—the shinigami made their move.

(He tried not to pursue that line of thought too far.)

Later the park would be empty, but this early in the evening there might be people there. Could he be sure the shinigami would refrain from attacking him if there were other humans around? Not enough to leave it to chance. He refused to put anyone else in danger because of his actions.

_“If you change your mind...well. You know where to find us, hm?”_

He couldn’t lead them to Urahara’s shop, any more than he could let them find him at home. Urahara might have strange reiatsu and uncanny knowledge, but if the shopkeeper couldn’t handle a Menos, he definitely couldn’t handle two shinigami.

(Assuming he wasn’t in league with them already.)

(Why else would he help Kuchiki? _)_

 _(Why would he help me?_ )

Not important. Focus.

Maybe a backstreet, somewhere in the older part of town. Near the abandoned hospital? It wasn’t the most reishi-dense spot in Karakura, but it could do.

It would have to do.

Uryū hesitated on his way to the door, eyeing the empty kitchen. Should he leave a note? Would it matter?

(If something happened to him, would Ryūken want to know? Would he know without being told?)

(If nothing happened, it wouldn’t be an issue.)

( _So don’t let anything happen._ )

He put his shoes back on, left the house, and locked the door behind him.

The setting sun painted the streets in red and orange as Uryū made haste for his destination. From how distant the new shinigami still felt, he gathered they hadn’t noticed him yet.

Maybe he had some time after all, for however long it lasted.

Physical barriers might do little to hinder shinigami, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use the terrain to his advantage. The abandoned hospital had several levels he could move between, lots of windows and roof access, an open lot surrounding it to prevent them from catching him by surprise—

Several streets behind him, Uryū felt Kuchiki’s reiatsu spike. Then both of the other shinigami suddenly converged on her location and he lost her.

That—

He swallowed and skidded to a stop, looking over his shoulder. That didn’t feel right. If she had already been in contact with them, wouldn’t they already know where she was? That felt like...

Were they...fighting?

(Did shinigami fight each other?)

They couldn’t be.

(Wouldn’t they?)

Kuchiki was _weak_. He and Kuchiki had barely fought off that Menos with Kurosaki helping to divide its attention. Against shinigami as strong as these two felt, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

(Did it matter?)

_“...are you the type of person who lets others clean up his messes, Ishida Uryū? Or will you act?”_

(Yes. Damnit.)

_“It’s okay to admit you want to help.”_

(Yes, it mattered.)

_“If you’re going to do something, do it!”_

( _Yes_.)

He turned around and started running, drawing on the reishi around him to lend him something like speed. Why would they go after her like that when he _knew_ his own reiatsu wasn’t nearly as quiet as it should be?

_“They won’t care about how it happened, or why…”_

(What if he wasn’t the one they were after?)

Ahead of him, the vague presences became shapes beneath the gaze of a street-lamp. Figures became people. Kuchiki facing off against two men who wore black shihakusho. Sundress, backpack, unarmed. She had a cut on one cheek and one of the shinigami—red hair, visor, tattoos—had already drawn his own zanpakutō. The other—dark hair, white scarf, blade sheathed—watched in silence.

Both the shinigami appeared entirely oblivious to Uryū’s approaching presence. Good.

“—iving your powers to a human is a _felony_ , Rukia,” the redhead was saying. “There’s no way this ends well and you know it. Whoever it was, they’re not worth your life!”

“I never gave my powers to anyone!”

Draw—target—release—

The arrow of reishi cut through the air between them to scorch the bark off a tree across the street. The redhead immediately shifted his guard, but the other hardly moved, a slight head tilt the only visible acknowledgement that anything had occurred.

Kuchiki spun around, her eyes wide.

Uryū lowered his bow and crossed the distance to stand beside her, ignoring the lingering ache in his arm. “Threatening an unarmed girl? How truly depraved you are.”

The redhead frowned and squinted over at Uryū. “Seriously? Who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s just—”

“A pers—”

“Unimportant.” A dispassionate voice cut them off with a palpable aura of command. The shinigami with the scarf turned his head to briefly regard Uryū’s bow, then went back to scanning the sky. “This does not concern you, human. Leave.”

The disregard burned in a way Uryū couldn’t fully articulate. “When a shinigami threatens one of my classmates, I _make_ it my concern,” he snapped.

“Hey, rude guy,” the redhead said, stepping forward. “He’s giving you a chance to back out. You gonna take it or not?”

Uryū raised his bow in response, but Kuchiki grabbed his arm and his half-formed arrow sputtered out as she yanked his aim askew.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

(Why did she sound so appalled?)

“I told you,” he said, dismissing his bow to pull his arm free. He frowned over at her.  “I really hate shinigami.”

(Why did it matter?)

Fighting both of the shinigami at once was unlikely to succeed, but the one with the scarf seemed disinclined to intervene right away. Arrogant. Useful. If Uryū could disable the redhead, convince Kuchiki to actually _help_ him—instead of hindering his attempt to help _her—_ maybe they could surprise the other one, cause enough damage to force a retreat.

(These two were clearly trying to hurt her. Arrest her. Why wouldn’t Kuchiki fight back?)

Between one heartbeat and the next, the shinigami struck.

Then Uryū was falling.

“Tch.” The redhead scoffed from somewhere above him. “You hate shinigami? If you really feel that way, you shouldn’t hesitate to strike. Taken down by a cheap shot like that…”

(Had he lost so easily?)

Ache in his arms. Pain in his chest. His vision swam with blurry pavement and shadows—what had happened to his glasses? He struggled to push himself upright, but his muscles wouldn’t respond. Reishi slipped through his grasp like water.

(No...)

“Rukia, we are leaving.”

(This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.)

Distantly, he felt Kurosaki’s reiatsu approaching and— _no, you idiot! Stay away! Get out of here!_

“...yes, nii-sama.”

_Wait, what?_

“Did you feel that, Kuchiki-taichō?”

_What did she say?_

“We’re leaving. The Senkaimon, Renji.”

_What did he say?_

Reishi swirled and parted as reiryoku split the air some meters away, a flash of light and color that coalesced into two tall, rectangular shapes. Doors? Uryū managed to get his trembling arms under him, trying again to get up. Summon his bow. _Something_.

Nothing.

He saw Kuchiki pass through and disappear, but then a tall shadow blocked his sight. One of the shinigami. The arrogant one?

What was he doing?

_“If you truly consider all shinigami your enemies, you may very well get what you wish.”_

( _What am_ I _doing_?)

This had been a mistake.

_I’m sorry, Sensei._

(Where did he go wrong?)

_Kurosaki, whatever you do...stay away until they’re gone._

Darkness swallowed Uryū’s vision, but the expected blade never came.

“Do not rush to your death without cause, Ishida Uryū,” he heard the shinigami say. “Your time will come.”

—

Two days after the challenge, Uryū awoke in the back room of Urahara’s shop and immediately shut his eyes. Awareness wasn’t so much painful as it was _present_ , like an afterimage from staring too long at the sun. A memory that made his mind recoil from its own shadow.

Too much remembering, too much _knowing_ , and far too much that made far, far too little sense.

How was he not—

_Breathe._

Had Urahara found him after the shinigami left? He remembered sensing Kurosaki nearby, remembered Kuchiki walking through a door in the air, remembered…

The shinigami had known his name.

How had the shinigami known his name? Had they already been watching him?

(The redhead had asked who he was.)

They had used their own names at some point, hadn’t they? Kuchiki had called one of them nii-sama, which meant that one had been...Kuchiki-taichō? A captain?

Related to her. And the other one was Ren-something...

(The shinigami had _known his name_.)

_Don’t think. Just breathe._

Inhale. Exhale.

“Your glasses are on the table, if you want them.”

Uryū froze. He couldn’t sense any reiatsu signatures in his immediate vicinity—Kurosaki was around here somewhere—but sensing reiatsu was useless when someone like Urahara could hide theirs so completely, wasn’t it?

Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open and squinted in the early dawn light. Blurry shapes and shadows, some small animal sitting on the windowsill. No people.

Where…?

“Calm down. I can hear you overthinking from here.”

That voice sounded familiar. Deep, masculine. From after the Menos attack? He hadn’t seen who it belonged to then, either.

Glasses were in the table. The table was...next to him, on his right. Could he move? Yes, slowly. His whole body ached, but in a way he could work through. Careful of the new bandages. Get his elbows underneath him, grimace and push himself upright. Be glad no one was around to see.

The animal—probably a cat, based on the fluid movements—leapt from its perch and padded across the floor to jump atop the table. He saw its tail twitch as it watched him.

His head felt dizzy, not appreciating the change of position as he sat up. For a moment, he closed his eyes and waited for equilibrium to return.

When he opened them again, the cat was still there.

“I can’t be that interesting to watch,” he murmured, reaching over to retrieve his glasses. They were relatively intact, which surprised him, and when he slid them on the lenses were thankfully less scratched than he had anticipated.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the voice said, somewhere to his right. “You’ve been busy the past few days. I'm curious what you’ll do next.”

...wait.

The cat stretched, a yawn of teeth and flexed claws, then drew itself up to sit properly, tail still twitching. It blinked slowly and said, “I’ll let Kisuke know you’re awake.”

Then it leapt off the table and sauntered out of the room like a talking cat was as normal as breathing.

Uryū took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He needed to get up, get his feet under him, find out what was going on. His hands and arms felt sore, possibly the result of ignoring Tsukabishi’s advice, but his fingers responded well enough when he ran them through a few light stretches. Drawing in reishi took more effort than he would have liked, but knowing it was there if he needed it helped to calm his nerves.

 _You’re fine. Breathe. You’re_ fine _._

He put his glasses back on.

With the table as leverage, he managed to stand and, after confirming that he wouldn’t fall on his face, he ducked in the dimly lit hallway. A low susurrus of conversation floated in from the shop front. He couldn’t make out individual words, but the lilt of Urahara’s voice was as hard to mistake as Kurosaki’s reiatsu, so he headed that way.

Answers. He needed answers.

“...once we better understand the situation. If they—ah, Ishida-kun!” That was definitely Urahara, spinning around to greet Uryū as if he hadn’t just been talking to the cat on the counter. “How are you feeling?”

The shop was empty so early, with just the rising sun and morning birdsong outside, but Uryū couldn’t help feeling uneasy to step into the open.

“Alive,” he said eventually. “Did you…?”

“Did I…?” Urahara echoed.

 _Did you see what happened? Did you know the shinigami would come so soon? Did you know they would send a captain? Did you tell them what we did? Did you tell them what_ I _did?_

_Do you know why they took Kuchiki with them?_

_Do you know why they didn’t—_

“Is Kurosaki alright?”

Urahara chuckled softly. “Yes, yes. Of course he is. Far better off than you were, in fact, seeing as those shinigami left before he even arrived. I might question if you listened to anything I said yesterday, but I think I know the answer to that already.”

“He passed out in Jinta’s room a few hours ago,” the cat said. “Said he wasn’t going home until he found out what happened.”

“And what _did_ happen, I wonder?” Urahara mused aloud. “You were the only witness, Ishida-kun. Care to share what you saw?

_“There’s no way this ends well and you know it.”_

Uryū’s gaze faltered as he tried to put his scattered memories in order enough to voice. Not everything, just important parts. (Not _that_.) Two shinigami, both familiar with Kuchiki. Sent to arrest her—or arrest someone. A captain. (A captain that—) Too fast for him to follow. (Too fast to _hit_.) None of his concern. ( _All_ of his concern.) Flash of light. A door in the air. (He should be dead.)

_“...human.”_

(Don’t think about it.)

Strangely, neither Urahara nor the cat commented until he had finished speaking, only exchanging unreadable looks between themselves—and of the two, the latter broke the silence first.

“They let him go.”

Urahara hummed audibly. “You think so too, hm?”

Uryū looked up from his thoughts and frowned at them, not following. “How do you get _that_ from what I just—?”

“How long do you think she has, that girl?”

“Considering the circumstances…”

“The traditional grace period is a month.”

_Grace period…?_

A chill of dread came over him. They couldn’t mean what that sounded like they meant. Why would a shopkeeper know about something like that? Why would a _cat_ know something like that? Shinigami wouldn’t do _that_ to one of their own, would they? Maybe to a human—(to a Quincy)—but...

_Wouldn’t they?_

—

 _“Go back?...No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!"_ 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 _Letters of John Keats_ (To George Keats, April 21, 1819), by John Keats
> 
> 5 _The Hobbit_ (“Chapter 5: Riddles in the Dark”), by J.R.R. Tolkien
> 
> —
> 
> The alternate title for this chapter is “Dramatic Irony and Panic Attacks.”
> 
> Alternate epigraph: “Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.” - _Letters of John Keats_ (To George Keats, April 19, 1819), by John Keats. See below.
> 
> —
> 
>  **Re: the Ishida family** \- Ryūken does genuinely care about his son. Unfortunately, he’s also _really bad_ at showing it. Or like, communicating with Uryū at all. And it’s terribly easy to live with someone without talking to them on a regular basis, even when you get along.
> 
>  **Re: Warnings vs experience** \- Urahara might have sounded like he knew what he was talking about the other night, but that doesn’t mean Uryū considers him a credible source, especially with Uryū's current predisposition for self-sufficiency. Some concepts—vague threats, potential allies, critical logic fails—are difficult to really comprehend even when they’re not being conveyed by a random, sketchy stranger who doesn’t like to explain himself.
> 
> That is, until the consequences smack you right where it hurts.
> 
> **Coming up**... CHAPTER THREE: a great and sudden change/to make a beginning 


	3. a great and sudden change/to make a beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No going back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left kudos and comments thus far! I really appreciate the feedback.

CHAPTER THREE: a great and sudden change/to make a beginning

—

 _“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”_ 6

—

Urahara had insisted on letting Kurosaki sleep until after Tsukabishi checked Uryū’s bandages, so the bright-haired idiot hadn’t been awake more than an hour when he looked directly at Uryū and said, “We’re going after her, right?”

They had gathered in the back room with Yoruichi—the cat, apparently—summarizing Uryū’s account of the night before while Uryū pretended not to notice the _look_ steadily creeping over Kurosaki’s face. The expression was already becoming unfortunately familiar: an intent frown that heralded yet another half-baked plan with little to no regard for what normal people might call _common sense._

“Do you even understand what you’re suggesting?” Uryū felt his brow twitch, memory of _falling_ still stark in his mind.

“Rukia’s in trouble!” As if that were the beginning and end of it. “Don’t you want to help her?”

“I tried. Clearly it was a mistake.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ishida-kun,” Urahara said. He sat across the table from them, lightly scratching Yoruichi behind the ears. “You did rather well, given what you were up against.”

Uryū shook his head. “Regardless. They took her back to Soul Society, Kurosaki. You…” _You don’t understand. You couldn’t._ “You weren’t there. Against strength like that, a whole army of them...you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Neither of them would.

“We can’t just leave her there.” Kurosaki scowled at him. “Being arrested by guys like that? Who knows what they’ll do to her!”

_“The traditional grace period...”_

Yoruichi knew. _Urahara_ knew. Maybe not everything—really, how could they?—but they clearly knew _something_ about what was happening and they weren’t sharing it.

Just a simple shopkeeper.

A simple shopkeeper with deadly reiatsu, uncanny knowledge, and a talking cat.

“‘The traditional grace period is a month,’” Uryū recalled aloud, narrowing his eyes. “The traditional grace period for _what_?”

(He needed to know.)

A glance passed between Urahara and Yoruichi. Urahara raised a brow. The cat’s ears flicked. Then Urahara pulled his hat down to shadow his eyes.

“Execution, of course.”

The silence lasted approximately five seconds before Kurosaki erupted to his feet, fists clenched, like he intended to punch his way across worlds with a brash cry of “But she’s innocent!”

“Is she?” Urahara asked, meeting Uryū’s gaze across the table.  “For the crime of giving her power to a human?”

(Why did his heartbeat suddenly feel so heavy?)

“Soul Society. Those _shinigami_ …” Uryū’s voice sounded oddly distant to his ears. “They don’t care about why it happened. Only that it did. A human with power like that, unchecked? They couldn’t abide someone who would allow such a thing.”

(Why did that suddenly feel so _wrong_?)

“No.”

Reiatsu surged with Kurosaki’s denial, dark and angry in a way that made Uryū instinctively pull back. Kurosaki had always possessed atrocious control for someone so innately powerful, but this felt almost... _focused_. Shaped. And not entirely human.

(... _shadows on the pavement..._ )

“No,” Kurosaki repeated firmly. “Rukia won’t die for helping us. I won’t let that happen.”

Urahara leaned forward, seemingly undeterred by the sharp increase in spiritual pressure. “Are you truly prepared for what doing so might require, I wonder?”

( _...reaching for nothing…_ )

”Kisuke...” Yoruichi hissed.

“Tell us,” Kurosaki demanded. His reiatsu hung tangible in the air, tendrils of black creeping into the whites of his eyes.

_You...what are you?_

Yoruichi growled, ears flicking up and back. “ _Kisuke_.”

“I see it,” Urahara murmured. “You should heed your friend’s experience, Kurosaki-kun. An army of shinigami is no small obstacle to surmount. What are you willing to risk for that girl, hm? Limb? Life? Freedom?”

“Rukia risked her own life to protect everyone from those Hollows. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t do the same?”

(... _no_... _stay away..._ )

Urahara tilted his head, lips curved upwards. “Well. If you’re so resolved, then come back tomorrow and I will train you. As you are now, any shinigami could kill you without issue. But if you can grow strong enough to pass my test within ten days...then, I will help you get to Soul Society.”

“Deal.” An unseen weight vanished as Kurosaki’s reiatsu subsided and he glanced over at Uryū. “You’re coming too, right? We’ve gotta be as strong as possible if we’re gonna save Rukia.”

_...we?_

Uryū stared at him. “Why...would you think I want to go with you at all?”

Kurosaki frowned.

(Like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him.)

_What kind of person are you, to say things like that?_

“Perhaps Ishida-kun doesn’t trust the training someone like me would provide,” Urahara commented lightly. “He did refuse my offer once already.”

“Then he’s smarter than most,” Yoruichi retorted, batting Urahara with a paw. The cat trotted across the table to Kurosaki. “The training you need won’t work for Ishida. However...no one at your level is getting into the Seireitei alone. If you truly wish to succeed, you _will_ need allies. If not him, then others.”

“Who…?” Uryū heard himself ask.

_If not me, who else is there?_

—

He didn’t go home after leaving the shop. Couldn’t. Not with...everything. Not right now.

Too late for school. Between his injuries and recounting what happened, he had missed the last day of class before summer break.

(Somehow school didn’t seem quite as important, anymore.)

The streets around him felt strange. Unfamiliar, despite having lived in Karakura all his life. His feet took him down paths he almost recognized, across town and into the park, until he finally found himself at the clearing where they had fought the Menos.

Where had he gone wrong?

Trying to help Kuchiki. Underestimating the shinigami. Overreaching his abilities. Borrowing Kuchiki’s power. Allying with her and Kurosaki. Miscalculating the Hollow bait’s strength. Challenging Kuchiki too soon. Revealing himself to Kurosaki. Acting on incomplete information. Assuming knowledge of his enemy. Failing to sufficiently prepare. Neglecting his training. Letting his sensei—

Not being strong enough.

Not being _good_ enough—

 _Breathe_.

Other sections of the park had been cordoned off to repair pavement damaged by the “explosion,” but this place was...untouched. As if nothing had even happened. The broken branches had already been cleared away, the splintered fence replaced, the grass where they had stood no more flattened than anywhere else.

In his mind, he could still see Kuchiki shoving her zanpakutō at him, Kurosaki drawing the Menos’ attention away to buy them that much more time, but in the here and now, he was—

“Ishida-kun?”

Not alone. Uryū turned around to see Inoue blinking at him from a few meters away, her schoolbag in one hand. Once again, he was struck by the sense of _somethingmore_ about her, a flicker of reiatsu that had never _been_ before.

(Kurosaki. Inoue. What else had he missed?)

“It is you! Oh, I was so worried!”

“...what?”

She hurried over, frowning at him with big, concerned eyes. “You were missing at school today, and so were Kurosaki-kun and Kuchiki-san, and no one even _remembered_ Kuchiki-san except Sado-kun and me, although everyone still remembered you and Kurosaki-kun, and I—”

When she paused for breath, he held up a hand to stall her. “Everyone at school has...forgotten about Kuchiki-san?”

“You remember her, too? Thank goodness, we’re not the only ones.” Inoue clasped her hands together. “I was going to see if something had happened to her, but she never mentioned where she was staying or anything…”

Not even a full day and the shinigami had already covered their tracks—but not as well as they might have hoped, if Inoue was any indication. Who else had they missed? Sado? Along with Kurosaki and himself.

(Except they hadn’t missed him at all. Not really.)

If they had wanted to—been _able_ to—wipe his memory, they could have done it right there. Would have. (Don’t think about it.) They hadn’t. So either they deliberately left both him and Kurosaki alone out of everyone, or...they couldn’t.

(No one at the shop had been affected, either.)

Which meant something else was responsible for these missing memories.

“...told Sado-kun I would check the park, because Asano-kun said he saw her and Kurosaki-kun here a few days ago. But then I found you here instead.” Inoue leaned over, peering up at him. “Ishida-kun? You had a very faraway look on your face for a moment. Did you remember something that might help?”

“She’s gone,” he muttered.

_The shop. Kurosaki. Me. Sado. Inoue. What's the common factor here?_

Inoue blinked slowly. “Um...well, yes. That’s why we’re trying to find her…”

“No, you misunderstand. She’s _gone_.” Uryū paused. “Literally. Inoue-san, how long have you been able to see spirits?”

“Since my brother’s ghost attacked me and Kuchiki-san helped put him to rest,” Inoue said, tilting her head. “Does this mean you can see them, too?”

“...yes. And I assume Sado-kun can as well.”

“Wait, do you think this is about Kuchiki-san’s secret superhero identity??”

_Secret...superhero...what?_

Uryū shook his head. “Kuchiki-san was taken back to Soul Society,” he clarified. “She wasn’t...human, like you and I. And they took her back.”

“She didn’t even say goodbye…”

_“You can’t fight every battle alone, Ishida-kun.”_

Was this what that man had meant?

“Kuchiki-san is in trouble,” he said after a moment. Inoue had drawn inward, brows knit and arms pulled close, but she looked up when he spoke. “We think she’s going to be executed.”

“We?”

Uryū adjusted his glasses to mask a grimace. “Kurosaki. He wants to go after her.”

“So that’s where you both were,” Inoue concluded, and suddenly smiled. “You’re already planning a rescue mission! I wish you had said something earlier, Sado-kun and I could have helped if we had known.”

(How could he ask anyone else to take such a risk, knowing what he knew now?)

“It’s...a recent development.” Uryū hesitated. “If there was something you could do, would you?”

“Of course! Kuchiki-san is our friend, why wouldn’t we want to help her? Execution…” Inoue bit her lip. “That sounds really scary, but it’s probably even scarier for her. If there’s anything we can do to help...as her friends we should definitely try, shouldn’t we?”

—

Ryūken’s shoes were missing from the entryway when Uryū finally returned home. Another late night at the hospital, he supposed. The house looked the same as it had the day before, but like the streets outside something about it seemed...different. Empty. Too quiet.

The silence had never bothered him in the past, but now it just left too much space for everything that had followed him back. After his encounter with Inoue, Yoruichi had appeared with an offer _"for anyone who wants to accompany Kurosaki to Soul Society.”_ Sado had already accepted, and Inoue could apparently do no less. And he…

(Kuchiki’s own people had turned on her.)

How had everything happened so quickly?

(“ _Execution, of course_ ,” Urahara had said.)

His challenge. The shinigami. That damning revelation.

(If he didn’t act, who would?)

Uryū had said yes.

Anyone who wanted to go to Soul Society had to pass a “test” before Urahara would help them get there. Yoruichi had refused to reveal what that test would actually _contain_ , saying they would have to show up and find out.

Uryū wasn’t entirely clear how a cat could teach them—teach _him_ —anything; but, if nothing else it would allow him to gauge Inoue and Sado’s abilities for himself. Even Kurosaki he had doubts about, and Kurosaki had the most spiritual experience of the three.

Given ten days and his grandfather’s gift, Uryū _might_ be able to get strong enough to fight a shinigami like the two who had taken Kuchiki. Kurosaki had potential, but given what happened earlier Uryū wasn’t sure just how that potential would manifest. Inoue and Sado _had_ to be able to hold their own, otherwise taking them to Soul Society would be a death sentence at best.

So he had agreed to return to Urahara’s shop tomorrow and see what sort of training a talking cat had to offer. In the meantime, he had other responsibilities: Check his gear. Clean his uniform. Eat something. Shower.

Maybe not in that order.

First: his uniform, which had been left to soak for _far_ too long already. He slid off his shoes and went to retrieve it from the sink.

It wasn’t there. The sink had been drained of water and now sat empty, a small note waiting on the counter instead.

 _“Don’t just leave something like that in the sink and disappear,”_ it read.

In Ryūken’s handwriting.

_Nonononono—_

Note clutched in one hand, Uryū rushed down the hall to his room, heart racing as he threw open the closet door.

_Tellmehedidn’t—_

Both boxes were still in the back of his closet, his uniform hanging from the rack the above.

His...

Wait.

What?

He blinked several times, but there it was. Above the boxes where he kept his gear, his Quincy uniform hung from the clothes rack. Clean. Dry. And no worse for wear than had he done it himself.

—

_“Kuchiki-taichō. It is unlike you to accept such failure on a mission.”_

_“Yes, Sōtaichō.”_

_“You were unable to locate the human in possession of Kuchiki Rukia’s reiryoku?”_

_“That is correct.”_

—

Although they all met at the shop the next morning, only Kurosaki went inside with Urahara when the time came. Yoruichi intercepted Sado as he went to go in after, then padded past them with an offhand, “This way. You don’t want to be around for what Kisuke has planned for that boy.”

“That’s...not very reassuring, Yoruichi-san,” Inoue said, jogging to catch up.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” Yoruichi didn’t stop, although the cat did glance back to make sure they were actually following before taking off down an empty alley. “You should all be aware of the dangers ahead of you, whether you go through with this plan or not. The shinigami are not a threat to be taken lightly.”

“That _is_ why we’re here,” Uryū noted, frowning as he gripped the strap of his bag. His usual gear didn’t require one, but he wanted to be prepared however this “lesson” went. If that cat meant to waste his time…

He had other options.

“That’s why _they_ are here,” Yoruichi corrected. “You should already know that much.”

Inoue made a thoughtful noise. “So what is Ishida-kun here to learn, then…?”

Uryū pursed his lips and didn’t answer, not missing how Sado looked over at him and his bag with a quiet frown.

Their route took them through several backstreets to an old warehouse on the edge of town. The lot had been largely abandoned, pavement crumbling into grass beneath the rusted wire fence that separated it from the adjacent forest. Not a bad place to avoid drawing attention to themselves, although Uryū questioned the building’s integrity.

Yoruichi showed them to a side door and perched atop a pile of broken crates inside. Over the next hour, the cat explained just where they would need to go in order to make any attempt at rescuing Kuchiki: the Seireitei.

Thirteen squads. Two auxiliary divisions. Upwards of 200 members each. And each one duty-bound to stop them.

_This is never going to work._

Of course, to even get there Inoue and Sado first had to intentionally summon their abilities, which was a challenge in itself. He had almost walked out right then, rather than spend several hours watching a cat coach his classmates through basic spiritual manipulation, but Yoruichi spoke up as he started to leave.

“Ishida.” The cat’s voice projected across the warehouse in a way that belied such a small creature. “I’d like you to show me something.”

That was...unexpected. Uryū shrugged the bag off his shoulder and walked back over. “Yes?”

Yoruichi glanced at where the other two were still struggling, then looked at Uryū and said, “What you did with Kuchiki the other day. Show me.”

What he did…

( _...reiatsu from Kuchiki’s zanpakutō..._ )

( _...energy, toomuchtoofast to control…_ )

“Urahara-san said—”

“It was dangerous,” Yoruichi interrupted. “Yes. And foolish to try something like that mid-battle for the first time.”

He frowned. “Then why would you want me to do it again?”

“Trying it under those conditions, with no knowledge of what you were doing nor understanding of the consequences, was foolish.” Yoruichi’s tail flicked. “But it worked, and both of you survived. Despite everything, you must have done _something_ right. Something I suspect you may need again in the near future.”

“Kuchiki-san isn’t even here. I _can’t_ do it again.”

“Then find another way.” Yellow eyes blinked twice. “Or do you think yourself so incapable? Your friends have their skills to learn. Now you have your own.”

So he did.

Eventually.

—

“Hinagiku, Baigon, Lily! Santen Kesshun—I reject!”

Golden reiatsu burst into a barrier in front of them, stretched between three of Inoue’s manifested spirits. Face scrunched in concentration, she hunched her shoulders and settled into a solid stance before calling out, “Okay, Sado-kun! Ishida-kun! I’m ready!”

Standing a few meters behind her, Uryū watched as Sado flexed his fist under the massive black-magenta armor that formed over his right arm. A nearby pile of debris, formerly Yoruichi’s perch, bore witness to an earlier exercise of Sado’s power and now functioned as a makeshift target instead. The cat had since taken refuge on a rusted railing much further out of the way.

In theory, several days of practice had improved their control enough that this attempt _wouldn’t_ bring the warehouse down on their collective heads.

In theory.

He gave Sado a nod over Inoue’s shoulder, and they began.

First, Sado drew his armored fist back and ran at Inoue’s barrier, slamming into it with a blow that otherwise would have taken her off her feet. She held her ground.

So far, so good. Both of them were getting much better at controlling their abilities.

Now his turn. Uryū took a deep breath, steadying himself as he summoned his bow. Kojaku thrummed once formed, comforting and familiar in his hand. Then he stepped forward and _reached._

Drawing energy from Inoue’s barrier wasn’t like taking it from Kuchiki’s zanpakutō. He had to be _careful_ , or else risk draining more than she could afford to lose.

More than he could afford to take.

(Once he had realized what he was actually _doing_ , taking reiryoku from someone else the way he took reishi from the environment, he had almost quit the idea entirely.)

So: careful, careful. Reach out, feel for the hum of _other_. Reach for it, but don’t just seize it all. Only take just enough. Just enough for one shot. Collect it in his hand, will it into shape. Pull back the resulting arrow and—

Inoue yelped and ducked out of the way, her barrier vanishing as his arrow suddenly surged out of control. He released it immediately and the volatile missile hurtled past Sado to crash through a window.

Uryū swallowed, heart stuck in his throat. If either of them had been even a little slower to dodge...

(This was _never_ going to work...)

(...but he’d come too far to change course now.)

“Better,” Yoruichi said when the dust finally settled. “Take a break and you can try again.”

—

By the end of the week, they had put three holes in the wall, incinerated the remaining debris, and shattered every window in the warehouse. However, each of them had also managed to progress far enough with their individual abilities that Yoruichi had pronounced them successful.  

“At least you’ll be more likely to hit your opponents than each other,” the cat said, yawning. “Congratulations. You all passed.”

It wasn’t an accomplishment Uryū had ever imagined seeking out—the approval of a talking cat—but he couldn’t deny he felt _stronger_ than he had a week ago. More capable. Safely drawing from someone’s reiryoku still took more effort than practical in a fight, but beyond that even reishi felt easier to manipulate with his improved control.

Fighting alongside allies felt awkward. Although he had occasionally gone out with his sensei to fight Hollows, that had been years ago now, and training with Inoue and Sado meant he had to be more aware of his surroundings than ever. If he slipped up, the consequences _affected_ the people around him.

But allies meant people who would help with those consequences, too.

Sado shoving him and Inoue away from a beam knocked loose in errant attack. Inoue throwing a barrier between Sado and another arrow gone awry.

(Uryū only hoped he could eventually return the favor. Somehow.)

The sun was beginning to set when they made their way back to the shop, Yoruichi having already gone ahead. They found Kurosaki sitting inside, a water bottle and a slim sword on the mat next to him.

...no.

Not a sword.

A zanpakutō.

Uryū inhaled sharply. “Why—”

“There you are!”

They all jumped as Urahara stuck his head into the room, eyes glinting. “Yoruichi-san tells me you three did very well,” he said. “It looks like Kurosaki-kun won’t be going to Soul Society all alone after all.”

—

Seven days to train. Two days to rest. One day to prepare.

This...this was happening.

None of them would survive alone against the whole of the Seireitei. That hadn’t changed. Even after the past week, Kurosaki, Inoue, and Sado were all too new to their powers; and while Uryū was confident he could now handle most individual shinigami he might encounter, he would be vastly outnumbered against those combined forces.

Together, though…

Together, they might have a chance.

He frowned over the new uniform he had finished for the trip, checking over his stitches one last time. Inoue’s barrier ability was definitely one of their most versatile assets, and Sado’s armor lent durability and power to his already considerable physical strength. Uryū could draw energy for his arrows from almost anywhere if pressed, along with a few techniques from his grandfather he had kept in reserve.

A week of training together wasn’t much, but they _had_ made progress. The three of them understood how their powers generally worked, what the others could do, and how their abilities interacted.  

Kurosaki, on the other hand, was a wildcard.

A zanpakutō he couldn’t fully use. Eclectic martial arts training. Reiatsu more likely to hinder them than help, if he couldn’t keep it under control. When Inoue had asked what had happened with Urahara, Kurosaki had given her a line about “weird meditation shit, sword stuff, that kind of thing” and changed the subject.  

_What would you say if you were still here, Sensei?_

Both Inoue and Sado trusted Kurosaki.

Uryū trusted that Kurosaki wanted to save Kuchiki.

(Where had that zanpakutō come from? It didn’t look like the one he had seen Kuchiki carrying. And that dark reiatsu...that hadn’t felt anything like a shinigami, either.)

(He had thought Kurosaki was just another spiritually-aware human.)

(What else was he wrong about?)

He returned his grandfather’s box to the closet unopened. It might have given them an edge against the shinigami, but there hadn’t been enough time. They would have to make do without it.

_Am I doing the right thing?_

His uniform. His cross. His silber draht.

A few gintō. A spare cape.

Three new allies.

A shopkeeper’s promise.

And a talking cat.

They were really going to do this.

_Kuchiki...we’re coming for you._

—

Uryū left a note on the kitchen counter between the coffeemaker and the rice cooker. If Ryūken looked, it had been written on the reverse of his own.

_“I’ve gone on a trip with some classmates. We should return before school starts again. Thank you.”_

—

_“What we call the beginning is often the end_

_And to make an end is to make a beginning.”_ 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 _Frankenstein_ (“Chapter 23”), by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
> 
> 7 “Little Gidding,” by T.S. Elliot
> 
> —
> 
> The alternate title for this chapter is “A Will To Protect.”
> 
> Alternate epigraph: "It's 10 PM. Do you know where your children are?" - Public Service Announcement from WNEW-TV, 1967. 
> 
> —
> 
>  **Re: Oh my god they’re fifteen** \- Yoruichi does her best to prepare these kids for what’s about to come, under the circumstances. Make sure they’re relatively competent, relatively informed, and tag along to hopefully minimize any too-permanent consequences. That said, I suspect Soul Society has a very different idea regarding [age of majority](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Age_of_majority) than most countries do today. As a result, while the Urahara Shop crew might acknowledge that the kids are _young,_ especially by the standards of people who measure age in centuries, there’s probably some cultural dissonance about what they’re actually ready to handle. 
> 
> Also, you know. Shounen tropes.
> 
>  **Re: Ichigo** \- Ichigo is a _huge_ anomaly. It’s a thing. He’s not really a shinigami, he’s not entirely a Quincy, he’s not a even really a Visored, and he’s definitely not a Fullbringer. If anything, he’s another “We Just Don’t Know” type like Orihime, except he’s not quite that, either. We know all the things he _should_ be, but by virtue of him also being _everything else,_ he’s kind of...not.
> 
> That three-way-hybrid soul is a delicate balance hinging on several very specific environmental factors—too much weight on any side the equation and it's all going to pieces. However: No power-transfer, no shinigami power bias. No power bias, no imminent soul-fracture. No soul-fracture? No fractured Zangetsu. 
> 
> And no fractured Zangetsu means that Ichigo’s convoluted power evolution just got a lot more streamlined.
> 
>  **Re: Uryū’s uniform** \- Consider the following: you come home from a long day at work and find the bloodied costume from your son’s _very dangerous extracurricular activity that you explicitly don’t talk about_ in the bathroom sink. Your son is missing. And two very strong shinigami reiatsu signatures just appeared across town. 
> 
> (Maybe, _possibly,_ a not-friend calls several hours later saying that your son was injured, but he’s being cared for and you shouldn’t worry.)
> 
> Did Ryūken freak out the night of that confrontation? I think he certainly might have, even if only where no one could see. Which maybe, possibly, leads to impulsive actions that his pride won’t let him take back in the morning. 
> 
> He’s an Ishida, after all.
> 
>  **Re: Training** \- Shinigami ages are tricky, but we do know that Yoruichi is at least as old as Kisuke. If he was around in some capacity for the Quincy Extermination (by virtue of his apparently-uncommon knowledge of Quincy from the intro arc), she definitely was. And if that’s so, it’s very likely that she’s seen—and fought against—Quincy of Sōken's variety before. As a member of the Onmitsukidō, familiarity with the enemy’s techniques would have been pretty important. 
> 
> From Yoruichi’s lessons in canon, we can infer she’s pretty good at teaching people who have skills she’s unfamiliar with, too. For Uryū, this all means that she’s probably one of the next best things to an actual Quincy teacher he’s gonna get at this point.
> 
> **Coming up**...CHAPTER FOUR: something that i can do/out of chaos


End file.
